


Teeter

by reylotrashpiler (Hosnianprime)



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Book 1: The Cruel Prince, Bullying, Emotional Manipulation, Humiliation, Implied Sexual Content, Manipulation, Masturbation, POV Cardan Greenbriar, POV First Person, Pining, Public Humiliation, Sex, Verbal Humiliation, dialogue quoted from the original, jittery nerves, rewrite of a scene, the everapple scene from Cardan's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hosnianprime/pseuds/reylotrashpiler
Summary: For a twisted moment, I imagine what it would feel like to wake up without Jude Duarte in the existence. She'd sleep forever from an apple bite gone wrong, and no prince could wake her up. I wouldn't have to stare at her auburn waves, the ridiculously endearing attempt of horns spun of hair. I wouldn't have to be tempted.Except she would be all I'd see when I close my eyes for the rest of my existence. Which is awfully long.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 55
Kudos: 197
Collections: favorite on TFOTA





	Teeter

**Author's Note:**

> Remember the scene when Valerian pushed the everapple in Jude's mouth?  
Well, this is what I imagined for Cardan. 
> 
> This is gift for the lovely Lady V who filled a request for me and drew [this gorgeous art](https://twitter.com/valkyrie_art/status/1193699843623047168?s=20). I had to repay her somehow.

Knowing her name and her whole family story is disgrace enough. Glamouring human servants to get me mortal children's books while everyone else is asleep so I can sate my hunger for something I don't allow myself to indulge on is a burning shame.

I hate Jude for being the way she is. I hate her brilliant intelligence. I hate the reckless mutinousness she lets surface more and more.

I hate that I can't stop spiraling. I hate that I imagine her lips on mine when I bed a girl.

So what if I don't stop Nicasia and Valerian from playing their distastefully cruel games with her? I don't mind seeing Jude suffer and struggle against the power of fae.

But when Nicasia actually lifts a hand on her in public, something breaks in me. I send Nicasia a warning glance so she remembers her place.

Best not anger Jude. Or worse: her father. Nicasia isn't half as smart she believes she is. Slapping Jude on the face gives Jude the right to challenge her. Which she does.

_Nicasia, _I seeth. She wouldn't survive for five seconds against Jude. Her recklessness is uncharacteristic. Perhaps Nicasia suspects something? Women always do and as my former lover, she knows me better than the others.

I see Valerian pick the everapple from the bush behind Jude's back. It's overripe, its fragrance wafting in the air. I can smell it from far. I know Jude can't. Humans don't have a refined nose.

Morbid curiosity takes over me and I don't stop Valerian from pressing the fruit in Jude's mouth. My body coils with interest. Jude, always in control, and now I get to see her unhinged. Can't say I don't want that.

She is quick to react, spitting out the pulp and scrambling for her basket where she always keeps salt. Nicasia is faster. She snatches it before Jude can and then Valerian is onto her.

"Let me sweeten that sour tongue of yours," Valerian grits out while he tackles Jude to the ground and shoves the apple in her face.

I stand there, stunned by their viciousness. It's a lot more than I could come up with and no small part of me reels that my friends come back at Jude for daring to be so disrespectful and defying against me.

Curiosity draws me closer to watch Jude fight against Valerian. She isn't fragile by far but Valerian is strong and heavy, and holding her head, pushing the everapple in her face.

Her movements get jittery, unfocused. Has the everapple already kicked in? I step around to look at her face.

I catch her eyes roll back in her head, unfocused. Something is wrong. My heart beats askew.

"Do something!“ a girl from our class shrieks and I realize that Jude is suffocating.

Valerian's face swims in delighted cruelty above her, with the intent to kill.

For a twisted moment, I imagine what it would feel like to wake up without Jude Duarte in the existence. She'd sleep forever from an apple bite gone wrong, and no prince could wake her up. I wouldn't have to stare at her auburn waves, the ridiculously endearing attempt of horns spun of hair. I wouldn't have to be tempted.

Except she would be all I'd see when I close my eyes for the rest of my existence. Which is awfully long.

Stupid, brutish Valerian.

I grip Valerian and I throw him off of Jude with a force that sends him crashing on the ground with a loud thud.

"Enough!“ I say with a finality that's rare to me. There should be grace in cruelty. There is none in death.

Jude rolls to her side and takes several deep, ragged, panicked gulps of air, sputtering up pulp. Her tears are flowing. I breathe in with her as if Valerian had been sitting on _my_ lungs this whole time.

She almost died. Right here, in front of me. I couldn't bear to see another helpless human die. I am many things. But I am no killer.

Jude's unfocused eyes open to me. Her pupils are dilated, open wide, making her iris appear as dark as mine. Dark as a well.

For a frightening, impossible moment I feel like she is glamouring me. I can't stop staring. I don't want Jude to die. Not prematurely. Not so stupidly. Not in front of my eyes. Maybe not ever. Which is foolish because she is mortal.

I crouch and reach for the salt in her basket, wanting to push it in her mouth, the whole fistful of it.

_Here, _I want to hiss to her, _eat it all. _What a great revenge it would be to make her thank _me_ for living all her short, useless life. To break the spell so she clearly understands that I have saved her, that she owes her existence to me… to make her think of me until the end of her days… to humiliate her like that…

I couldn't ask for sweeter revenge.

She _laughs_ at me as if she heard my thoughts. Any other day I'd marvel at this sound so rarely coming from her. Now I just feel frustrated, ready to be over with this. I long for a drink. Wine, perhaps, so my nerves would stop jumping. I wish fruit had the same effect on me as it has on Jude so I could just take a bite and roll with careless laughter while I'm about to be torn apart by the wolves looming over me.

"Ruin my fun, will you?" Valerian asks with a bite. I throw him a beseeching stare involuntarily which is a mistake. I grit my teeth and curse inwardly. I went too far with gentleness.

I laugh. Laughter comes easy when I am nervous. I toss the salt in the air, watching it scatter in the wind. I have no choice but to let this situation spiral though I have no appetite for it.

Jude's near-death left my nerves raw and exposed.

“What’s wrong with you, Valerian? If she dies, your little prank is over before it begins," I smooth away the implications of my actions. Better they believe I want Jude to suffer for a long time than they think they can just kill her. They would if I allowed it. Valerian and Nicasia are always trying to please me, just like everyone else. Except for Jude.

“I’m not going to die,” I hear Jude mutter.

_You are, _I want to correct her but I don't have the nerve. Anything but death right now.

Noggle says someone should take Jude home. I complain that they are dull but my nonchalance isn't as foolproof as it should be because I _want_ Jude to go home. Everything is too much right now.

Jude smiles at me, a delirious, sultry smile. I frown at her, the urge to put an end to this intensifying in me. Yet, I don't move. I can't. The crowd is thirsty for entertainment. If I call it off now, they'd know I wasn't really helping Jude to prolong the teasing.

"Which one of us would you most like to kiss?“ a girl I don't care to remember the name of inquires Jude.

My heart thuds faster. I dread and yearn in equal parts that she calls my name. My mind races to prepare the appropriate reaction to that. I'd kiss her. There is safety in cruelty. I'd only be cruel, mocking her. No one had to know what it really means to me.

"I'd like to kiss all of you," Jude sighs dreamily.

_All of you _hits me uncomfortably. She'd kiss _me_ — but also the others. I'd prefer if she wanted to only kiss _me_. Would my kiss break the spell, considering that I am a prince?

The rest is a blur, my thoughts fixated on the kiss I could almost steal. Meanwhile, our classmates debate how best to take advantage of Jude's state. Nicasia beats everyone by far.

"You should take them off," she lulls, glamour heavy in her voice even though Jude already is defenseless. Nicasia always covers her bases when she sets her mind to manipulation. I know that too well.

Jude agrees with a content smile and throws her dirty clothes off.

The crowd waits with a hush at the plateau, quivering with bated breath to see how much further we will dare to go.

Jude's undergarments are _hideous. _I have no words for the visual offense I have to suffer by looking at the mint green fabric littered with black dots.

But her body… I try not to stare now that the subject of my desire is in a state I often imagined her, forcing indifference on my face.

Jude is — _full_. Her breasts sway when she sways on her feet, and I see how they need to be held in place by the material to make movement more comfortable. Her waist is narrow and her hips are wide and the horrendous underwear hugs round buttocks. Her thighs ripple with force. Her body is that of a warrior with magnetic femininity. Nothing like the lithe, fragile bodies I am used to.

Nicasia is right. She is nothing like us. She is enticing in her own way.

My thoughts run wild. Any self restraint I had vanishes. I long to know what her curves feel like underneath my fingers, what shade the velvety skin on the peak of her breasts is, if she is bare or has the same color of auburn hair covering her most sacred part. 

I hate everyone. Her. Nicasia for unleashing this sight on me unprepared.

But most of all, I hate myself for wanting a mortal. It's disgusting and foolish, even more foolish than the things I usually do.

My hatred and desire bubble in me with equal force. I need something to sate it. I need to remind myself how disgusting it is, what I want. I want to unleash this struggle on the very cause of it.

I toe off my shoe.

"Jude will come here and kiss my foot," I announce, voice little wavering. "She said she wanted to kiss us," I argue, "and I am her prince, after all.”

She laughs and it strikes me wrong. She shouldn't be laughing. She should fight me and spit in my face. The Jude I know would do it for far less.

But this girl is not Jude. Not really. She isn't herself and that makes my whole revenge taste sour in my mouth.

I want to hear her say that I am great and that she admires me. The others are snickering, thinking it as a cruel joke. Only I know how sinister I am, to twist it out of her mouth when she can't do otherwise.

I feel sick with myself and with her and everything. I stare down at her curvy body, the hourglass shape of it searing in my eyes just when she lifts her face, too. Her features are soft and she is glowing with happiness. It strikes me as blasphemy to see her so beautiful, so irresistible.

I will perish of want. I will perish until I can dig a grave deep enough inside of me to bury what I feel for Jude Duarte.

"Enough," Locke interrupts sharply.

_Just when it was getting fun_, I grouse inwardly, although I feel no amusement. I can lie to myself.

He pulls her up and says, "I'm taking her home."

I look Locke in the eye to see if he flinches. Seems like one of the Duarte twins wasn't enough for him. Or perhaps he can't tell them apart? I'd help him. All it takes is a look at which one scowls at me with more vitriol.

“Are you, now?” I ask him, eyebrows raised. “Interesting timing. You like the savor of a little humiliation, just not too much?”

Locke holds my gaze and he even mutters, "I hate when you get like this."

And here I thought we couldn't lie. Maybe he refers to the violence. Locke has a different taste in games with mortals. More delicate, less physical but equally horrid. I can't exactly say what his game plan here is but I know from experience that it will leave someone with a broken heart.

I suspect, in this case, Jude. How poetic to be united by a mutual hurt of Locke taking from you what's dearest to you.

I can't stop Locke's scheming. If I tried I'd make Jude even more of a target than she already is and would undermine my own reputation. I feel in my heart that I don't want to stop Locke, either. Jude should experience all that Faerie has to offer.

But there is one thing I will not do. I won't make it easier for Locke.

I pull the pin from my coat and grab Jude's hand. It's rough and cold against my warm, soft skin. She is pliant in my grip, staring at me with parted lips and a gaze filled with wonder and confusion. Her eyes are open, without their usual hostility towards me and I greedily sear the snowflake pattern of her brown irises in my memory. Her body heat is warming my skin and I ignore how much I want to pull her even closer.

I stab her thumb.

She yelps, surprised, and I feel the jolt of her body beneath my fingers before she pulls away and – as I expected – sucks on the injury. The prick of the needle that breaks a curse instead of inflicting one.

They like to think of themselves as clever, my peers. They are not. Her blood, her whole body has salt. I can already see in her eyes that she comes to herself, the blood breaking the spell of faerie fruit instantly.

"Have a nice walk home," I tell her in the eye, using the publicity to pressure Locke into taking Jude to _her_ home and not his.

As I said, I won't make it easy for Locke. If he wants Jude, he better earn her. I am sure he can't succeed. And even if he would, he won't keep her for long. Such is the nature of Locke.

We share a short glance above Jude's head. I am warning Locke with my gaze to be true to the implications of his words and take Jude safely home to his father. He remains stoic, appearing to be the benevolent faerie knight, and wraps Jude in a blanket. She stumbles unsteadily on her feet, holding onto Locke for support, their bodies pressed together. The false gentleness of Locke's touch is alarming on her docile body. I cannot bear to watch without the urge to retch.

"Locke is such a log," Valerian complains, drawing my attention away from the retreating pair.

"He is," Nicasia agrees quickly with a double entendre that leaves us laughing at Locke's expense.

Morgana slides up to my side. She smells of red berries, which is good. Better than apple.

I let her timidly feel me up and even lean into her exploration.

Jude's almost naked body is still on my mind. I think of her when, on the way home, I pull Moragna behind a particularly wide tree and kiss her, crashing her against me as the rough bark supports my back. I need a distraction.

Her body is pliant, lithe, fragile. Nothing like Jude. I am ashamed to admit that I am neither too gentle nor too generous this time. Still, Moragna doesn't complain. Why would she? Giving herself to me is an honor.

I kiss her goodbye just to keep up pretense and sullenly walk back to my room.

When the door closes on me, I let myself feel everything all at once.

My hands shake as I pull the wine bottle from behind the bookshelf. I reach to the place where —

I freeze.

_Alice in Wonderland_ is gone. Someone took it from my room. I glance around, suddenly paranoid and inspect every inch.

On the ground, I find something incriminating. A long strand of auburn hair. I lift it up to look at it in the moonlight.

The waves in it, the scent of it… there is no mistaking whose hair it is.

Jude has been to my room. And took the book.

Suddenly, a maniac laughter bubbles up in me. No matter how much care I took to hide it, now Jude will know that my feelings aren't hatred. Not really.

Why else would I, a Prince of Faerie, own a mortal fairytale book and have a whole page of her name, written in various letters, hidden in the very same book? I don't even consider why and when and how Jude invaded my quarters.

I laugh at myself and drink. I sway to the bed and think of Jude's mesmerising skin, the little scars, the moles dotting it here and there. I think of how I saved her life.

I think of how I let Locke just take her home and give her impressions of a refuge he won't provide her.

I think what I would have done, were I braver. Truly brave, like Jude. Brave to defy everyone and everything. Brave enough to take Jude home, for example, or stop her torment. Brave enough to warm her up to me as Locke does instead of hammering wedges between us.

Brave enough to hope for her to like me although I am nothing in her eyes. Not a warrior. Not clever. Nothing she holds of value.

Brave enough to take her here. To kiss her like she deserves and give her pleasure she doesn't know yet. Make her desire my touch.

I feel _my_ desire spike although not an entire hour has passed since I parted ways with Moragna in the woods.

I groan. Only Jude can reduce me to this indignfying mess although I could stomp my cravings with anyone.

Not anyone. That's not true. Not with Jude. Jude, the only one I _really_ desire.

I let myself go. I let myself remember the stolen image of Jude's body. I remove those hideous mortal garments and dress her in ruby and greenbriar and a flower crown. I uncover her last hidden patches of skin, filling in details with my imagination. I can't stop and it's disgusting.

I imagine her salty taste on my tongue, the quiver of her thighs beneath my fingers, at the side of my head. Her hot and soft body beneath me, above me, around me. I let myself indulge on every little fantasy I have about her until the moon sets and the sun creeps up to the horizon. I empty the bottle of wine and I empty myself until I can't anymore and lie panting on my bed.

I am disgusting. And I can't stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you a thousand times for [chel (destinies)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies/pseuds/destinies) for chiseling away the incorrect references and for the idea to add more fairytale motives! Check out her work, especially if you are thirsty for more Jurdan fic! :) she is the best!!
> 
> I am BEGGING YOU to leave a comment (even an emoji) because I need validation like Cardan needs to see Jude naked in his bed. Haha. Jk. Unless??


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